A New Hope
by nmd529
Summary: Neisa has lost everything she has ever loved, and expects nothing more for her lonely life.  But then she stumbles upon Lord Boromir on his quest to Rivendell, and is thrown into an adventure and love she could never have even dreamed of.  Boromir/OC
1. Chapter One

**So, here's another story that I've decided to try out. Hope you all enjoy! **

The plains of Rohan spread across the canvas of Middle Earth, never seeming to end. Green grass mixed with harsh, gray rock formations; the air was warm, clouds rolling all around the hot sun above. An occasional bird would circle overhead, calling out in a brilliant song and eventually fading into the horizon. That was the only movement in our scene, or so it seemed. Hooves pushed rocks around on the soft, cool earth, breaking the brief silence. A large, majestic horse appeared, his head raised high with pride and surveying his surroundings. He was easily 16 hands tall, with a shiny black coat and wild mane. The horse was so startling that it would be easy to overlook his rider, a small figure compared to the massive animal.

The rider had a dark hood covering its head, no doubt for some shade against the sun. Its hands clutched the reins tightly, so that their knuckles were white. These hands were surprisingly small, dainty even—however, they were dirty, the nails and palms caked with dried mud. That was the only visible part of the figure, those cringe-worthy hands. Everything else was covered by the dark cloak, shielding it from prying eyes.

The horse suddenly stopped short, its head swishing back and forth, not uneasily but in suspicion. The figure leaned forward, placed a hand on his neck, caressing it gently and whispering soothing words. A slender, pale nose flashed as the hood was jostled, but it vanished just as quickly. The figure sat back up when the horse calmed, and tossed back the hood and jumped down, revealing a woman. She had, at the most, twenty-five years in her entire life. She had the possibility of being attractive, maybe even beautiful, if not for her unkempt, rough appearance. Her hair, long, chestnut brown, was greasy and tied back at the back of her neck. Her face was pale with the exception of a few blotchy pink spots, no doubt from sunburn, and dirt and mud smeared across her cheeks. The eyes that sprouted from her face were probably her best feature, bright, clear, and green.

There was no question that this woman had been living on her own, in the elements, for several weeks, if not months. She was slender but toned; her muscles must have been formed from at least sparring with a sword. There was a beautifully crafted sword sheathed on her side, with a red ruby on the hilt. This was another queer trait of the young woman—her attire. She was dressed in men's clothing, down to her gray boots and dark green tunic. It was certainly not proper for a lady to wear such masculine clothing.

"Come, Shadow," said the woman softly, taking ahold of the horse's bridle and leading him forward. He nudged her in the back playfully, causing a snort to escape from the woman's throat. "So obnoxious," she laughed quietly.

The pair walked for an hour or so in silence—the woman had desperately needed to stretch her legs after riding for so long, and what better way than to walk alongside her only companion. Abruptly, while they were walking, Shadow came to a halt, tossing his head back and forth irritably. As this must have been a rare occurrence, the woman stopped as well, and looked around her, her hand clenching the hilt of her sword.

A horse was riding towards them at a hasty pace, enough to make the woman's blood run cold. Her eyes narrowed, trying to see if the horse had a rider, but she could not see far ahead enough. Thinking quickly, the woman grabbed Shadow's bridle and pulled him over to a large rock formation, large enough to hide them from immediate sight. She did not want to be found, not yet.

She put a finger to her lips as her eyes searched Shadow's, and he nudged her shoulder in confirmation. Unsheathing her sword, she pulled her hood up and steadied herself, her palms becoming increasingly sweaty in the process.

The horse seemed to slow as it approached their hiding spot, and it was now close enough for the woman to see that it did indeed have a rider. The horse was strong and sturdy, but nowhere near as beautiful as Shadow. He slowed completely, anxiously staring around, as if he could sense that the woman and her horse were hiding. The rider pulled tightly on his reins, and dismounted from his horse. He walked past their hiding spot, his steps slow and methodical, his sword now unsheathed as well-a great shield was slung over his shoulder, but he did not put it to use, not yet.

The woman took a silent breath, in and out, and stepped out, walking silently behind the rider. She could not risk being found, not now. Her steps were silent as she approached the rider, the tip of her sword pointing directly at the back of his neck. When she was practically a breath away from him, she raised it, ready to strike. As her sword made its descent, the rider spun around, holding his own sword up in a block. Thus the sword battle began.

Parry, jab, parry, the woman thought to herself as she battled with the rider. Sweat gathered on her brow and beneath her arms. She caught glimpses of him with each clash of metal on metal—long, rich dark brown hair, steel gray eyes, a strong nose and jaw. She was blessed to have her face hidden in shadow, or else the man would surely underestimate her skill if he realized she was, in fact, a woman.

It went on for minutes, hours, maybe days, the woman could not be sure. It seemed it would never end—they were too evenly matched. Suddenly his leg shot out, kicking her feet out from underneath her and forcing her to topple onto her backside, the rider's sword tip aimed directly at her neck. Her hood slipped, and her disguise ruined.

The rider hesitated, and took a step away from the woman. The shock was evident in his eyes—he clearly did not expect his advisory to be a woman. As they both caught their breath, the woman realized just who she was battling—someone she had seen throughout her time growing up in Minas Tirith, a constant presence in her life. It was none other than the Steward of Gondor's eldest son, Lord Boromir. The woman silently cursed herself for her horrid luck.

"Who are you?" Boromir demanded now, his sword still pointing at her, even though he now had some distance. "Speak, now."

The woman's temper flared, and she instantly got to her feet, ready to fight once more. "How dare you speak to me as if I am some peasant girl you can order around," she snarled, her lip curling in fury.

Boromir's mouth opened, about to retort angrily, but he closed his mouth quickly, thinking better of whatever response he was going to make. "I simply wish to know the name of the woman who attacked me moments before," he said through gritted teeth, still not exactly able to control his emotions.

The woman stared into his eyes, and after a moment's hesitation, responded with, "Neisa. My name is Neisa."

"Thank you," said Boromir sincerely. "My name is—"

"I know perfectly well who you are," Neisa cut him off, now sheathing her sword, sure that she was safe now. Hopefully Lord Boromir hadn't taken to cutting down random maidens in his past time.

"Well then, Neisa, why did you attack me, if you knew who I was?" asked Boromir, sheathing his sword as well and taking a tentative step towards her.

Neisa began to notice details about him she hadn't realized before—like how he was more than a foot taller than her, and was very broad shouldered. This was, no doubt, the reason why so many women back in Minas Tirith would practically swoon over Lord Boromir. "I did not realize who you were until you knocked me down, which was an unfair move, by the way," she added bitterly. "I do not trust lone riders easily. That is why I attacked you."

"There is nothing fair about battle," Boromir responded, and his face was far away for just a moment before Neisa raised her eyebrows at him. "For what it is worth, I am sorry for knocking you down, and possibly harming you."

"There was no harm, I assure you," said Neisa, frowning at the idea that he had still beaten her in battle. She clicked her tongue, and Shadow approached the pair, his eyes watching Boromir's every move. The sight brought a smile to Neisa's face.

Boromir stared at the stunning horse, amazed at both its size and owner. "That is quite a horse," he said after a moment's silence. As if on cue, Shadow nodded his head and nuzzled the side of Neisa's face. A girlish laugh escaped from her, and she nudged him away.

"This is Shadow," she said without turning towards Boromir. "He has been my companion for many years, ever since—" Her voice faded, and it was her turn for her eyes to be thousands of miles away, in a battlefield riddled with bodies forgotten. "Where are you heading, Lord Boromir? You are a long way from Minas Tirith."

There was only silence for several moments, and then Boromir responded vaguely, "I am on a quest for my father. And yourself?"

Neisa could not help but smile wryly, realizing that, of where he was heading, she would never know. "I am simply enjoying this lovely scenery," she said just as vaguely, turning to face Boromir once more.

Boromir studied this young woman—she held such fight and fire within her heart, and had decent skill with a blade. Perhaps it would not hurt to have a companion on this quest, one who could defend herself; there was a clear desire for adventure in her eyes, a restlessness that he had once seen in himself. He would not tell her his intentions, of course, but simply allow her to accompany him to Rivendell. "Well, if you need a change of this 'lovely scenery', as you call it, perhaps you would like to join me on my quest? It would not hurt to have another blade."

She gazed into his eyes, clearly debating within herself whether or not to agree to his proposition. "To where are you going, Lord Boromir?" asked Neisa finally, her eyes never leaving his.

"Rivendell," replied Boromir. "I am sure you have heard of it before?"

Of course she had—when she was a child, Neisa had dreamed of one day visiting the elves, of meeting one of those stunningly beautiful beings. Rivendell was supposed to take your breath away, its beauty so remarkable. She felt her will breaking, and finally agreed, "I will accompany you, Lord Boromir. If only to show you that I am, in fact, more skilled with a blade than you could ever dream to be."

His laugh was hearty and handsome, Neisa easily noticed this. However, her eyes narrowed at his clear amusement, and she rolled her eyes, turning back to Shadow and mounting him. "Come, Shadow—let us make haste and leave this ridiculous man in our dust."

Shadow raced forward, happy to finally be able to sprint and stretch his long, athletic legs. Boromir mounted his horse as well, hastily following the woman that intrigued him so. They rode quickly, never dallying in one place. Before nightfall, they had reached the Gap of Rohan, close enough to see the burning fires of Isengard. "What has happened?" asked Neisa; her father had always told her that Isengard was a lovely place, one filled with evergreen and the clearest of blue rivers.

"I am not sure," replied Boromir honestly; they were only a distance away from the outskirts of Fangorn Forest, and it seemed like a safe enough place for the night. "Come, we will stop here for today, and begin riding in the morning."

After collecting enough wood for a small fire, Boromir and Neisa settled down around the fire, sitting directly across from the other. He handed her a piece of his salted pork, and before she could gracefully deny him, he said, "You have to eat something. You'll need your energy for tomorrow."

Frowning at his knowing eyes, she took the pork and began to chew on it thoughtfully. It made her mouth water—she had honestly forgotten the taste of meat since she had left her home and been out in the wilderness. She did her best to eat it slowly, savoring every last bite. After she was finished, Neisa pulled her knees up to her chest and stared into the fire, thinking of home. She felt Boromir's eyes on her, watching her carefully in the silence.

"I must admit, Lady Neisa—"

"No," she said suddenly, her bright eyes instantly boring into his. "I am no lady, I assure you."

"Alright," Boromir said slowly, as if afraid she would run off into the night, "I will call you Neisa, if you no longer address me as 'Lord Boromir'." Her lips pursed untrustingly, but she nodded, and he continued, "As I was saying, you are quite talented with a blade. Who taught you such skill?"

Neisa did not answer at first, studying the flames hungrily licking the wood. Boromir waited for her reply patiently, his eyes never leaving her face. "My father," she said, her voice low and soft. "He had always dreamed of having a son, of teaching him how to hunt and fight, and one day becoming a soldier, like him. When my mother had me instead, he took it in stride—as soon as I was strong enough to hold a sword, he taught me everything, sparring with me every day. Until—"her voice died off, and she looked up into Boromir's eyes, so kind and warm. Her tongue was twisted, and she stopped herself from saying any more. "Good night, L—Boromir," said Neisa, laying down in the dirt and turning her back towards him. "I shall see you in the morning."

She began to slumber, not knowing that Boromir pulled a blanket from his satchel—the only one that had been packed away—and gently draped it over her slim body, protecting her from the chilly wind. Putting out the fire with his foot, he slowly drifted off to sleep, light enough to where a crack of the twig would alert him immediately. He no longer had to protect himself, you see—he was determined to protect the mysterious young woman who was now plaguing his thoughts.

**So, what did you all think? Please review and let me know!**


	2. Chapter Two

**So, I just posted the first chapter of "A New Hope" yesterday, but I'm really excited about this story, so I'm beginning to work on the next chapter today. Oh, and forgive me if my description and history of Tharbad is spotty or just plain wrong—my information came from the internet, so who knows if it's even right. Thank you for the lovely reviews! Here's my responses:**

**vivekalove: **Haha, yeah, I love Boromir too (: There's just something so…manly about him. Anyways, thank you for the review, I'll definitely keep writing this story for a while!

**arab57g: **Thank you for the review! I honestly had no idea about those horse facts that you gave me, but I actually really do appreciate them. I edited the first chapter so that Shadow is now 16 feet tall which, according to what I found online, should be alright for a racing horse? But, anyways, thank you for your help, and the review! Glad you like it! (:

**MizoreTakeda: **Thank you for picking that up! Normally I pick up on those spelling errors, but it must have got past me. Thank you for the review! (:

The sun was barely peeking over the horizon when Boromir shook Neisa's shoulder roughly, waking her from a peculiar dreamless sleep. She blearily gazed up into his gray eyes briefly before he moved over to his horse, Mahran, preparing them both for long travel. Neisa's eyes traveled down to the unfamiliar blanket wrapped around her; her cheeks burned, and she hastily folded it into a messy square, and forced it into her companion's hands. "Thank you," said Neisa, unable to meet his eyes; she normally would have told him that he need not worry about her well-being, but she was far too surprised to form the words.

Instead, Neisa approached Shadow, who was well-rested and looking ready to ride. She caressed his nose gently, and tightened his saddle straps, making sure nothing would loosen during their ride. "Are you ready to go?" asked Boromir, his eyes seemingly watching her every move.

"Yes," said Neisa quietly, and she mounted Shadow, her hands roaming over his neck lightly before beginning to race Boromir once more to Rivendell.

They road nonstop in silence, with Boromir occasionally glancing back at his young companion to make sure that she could, indeed, keep up. He had to admit that she was a skilled rider as well; he figured that her father had taught her that talent as well. His mind went through what she had vaguely told him the night before, and he tried to decipher what had made her leave her home and live on her own for what had to be at least a couple months. Her face—one that was rather memorable—brought back no past memories, although he had come to spend months at a time away from Minas Tirith, forever stranded in battle and blood. It would be easy for something to have happened to her while he had been away from Minas Tirith, and he would have no idea—he was sure that was from where she hailed, since she had recognized his face instantly.

When night began to fall once more, they were halfway along the Old South Road, fairly close to deserted city of Tharbad; if all went well, they would be in Rivendell in about four days' time. Boromir and Neisa tethered their horses, as before, and silently collected firewood for a small fire. However, after they had finished eating, Boromir approached the sitting Neisa, his hand reached out to her. "Will you do me the honor by sparring with me? I wish to see how much skill you truly do hold," he said, his stormy gray eyes never leaving her emerald greens. She narrowed her eyes untrustingly, but she put her hand in his and allowed him to help her up. Her sword was immediately unsheathed, and, when there was a good distance between the two, he turned to face her, his sword out as well.

There was no go, no begin—Neisa felt all of the frustration of her past mistakes and troubles building in her hands, making them tremble with fury as she was the first to strike. Boromir countered all of her attacks, and then began to push her back with each of his own. They went back and forth for a time, Neisa was not sure of how long it lasted, but she could feel her adversary gradually pushing her to fight back even harder, his speed and strength quickening with every step. Neisa, for her part, did fairly well, up until she missed her last strike, and Boromir instantly took advantage of her mistake—his blade was instantly at her neck, his face centimeters from hers. "Dead," he smirked slightly before taking several steps back. "Again?"

"Just…give me a moment," replied Neisa, slightly out of breath and her sword dropped her hand. Shaking her head, she took a couple of deep breaths before turning to him once more. "Ready," she said finally, turning her determined green eyes to his.

Neisa awoke early the next morning, her limbs aching. It had been quite a while since she had found a sparring partner—especially one that pushed her to her limit. She and Boromir had spared for five more rounds the night before, with the latter critiquing the former's techniques, as well as her ability to bottle up her emotions while fighting. This last part disturbed Neisa the most, as her father had always told her that emotions played no part in a swordfight, and they would only lead to defeat and death. How could she have forgotten this crucial lesson? It made her furious with herself, but she did her best to keep it hidden, from both Boromir and herself.

Boromir, for his part, helped her greatly with her sword fighting skills, although she loathed admitting it, even to herself. She was sure her father would be impressed with her advances, but it frustrated her that she actually had room for improvement—Neisa had been so sure that she was a strong fighter. But, clearly, she was wrong; Boromir had made that quite clear the night before.

"Sore?" asked Boromir from where he sat, observing of her grimaces with every movement.

"Unfortunately," replied Neisa shortly. It wasn't just her body that was sore—it was her ego as well.

She immediately noticed, as she had the past two previous nights, the richness of Boromir's garb. If you did not recognize his face, it would be easy to decipher that Boromir had, indeed, come from royalty, as his cloth probably had more value than her entire house. Neisa was sure that she appeared completely inferior to him—she was garbed in the cheapest cloth there was to find in Minas Tirith, and her boots were her mother's old riding boots. They were worn and scuffed from years of use. She was lucky they were still even functional.

"Where do you expect us to be by nightfall?" asked Neisa; Shadow had greeted her cheerfully, helping her irritable mood clear up.

"I would like to be past the Old Bridge of Tharbad; but we will have to see how far we get," replied Boromir, glancing at her turned back for a second longer than expected. "Impatient for another sparring round, are we?"

Neisa scowled as soon as she caught the teasing tone in his voice, and simply shook her head. "Just ready to show you that I'm not incompetent," mumbled the young woman as Shadow began to walk towards Boromir and Mahran, ready to run once more.

Boromir's sharp ears caught Neisa's words, and he frowned at her downtrodden face. "Do not be so hard on yourself," he told her not unkindly, forcing her eyes to turn up to his. "You have more raw talent than some of the soldiers I have trusted my life with; you just need to refine that talent. Then you may even be able to beat me one day." He finished this last sentence with a playful smile, with some warmth hidden within.

Neisa could not help but return his smile, and nodded silently. His words were kind and encouraging, but she would not feel truly capable until she beat him, at least once. Her mother had always said her competitive nature would be her downfall; perhaps she was right.

They continued to ride at quick pace, which Shadow clearly enjoyed; he had not been able to run at such a pace since before Neisa's father passed the magnificent horse to her. About twenty minutes into their ride, Neisa turned to her companion and asked him loudly over their horses' hooves, "Where is Tharbad? I have no memory of hearing of such a place."

"It is an old river-port, crossing over the Greyflood; the town is long since deserted now, so we should not have any trouble," added Boromir at the sight of Neisa's concerned expression. Neisa gave him another look, but simply nodded, and they carried on through the green, warm terrain.

As it turned out, Tharbad was, in fact, deserted, just as Boromir had stated. The only sounds that came from the small town were the sound of the whistling wind, creeping through the empty rooms and bare streets, and the occasional call of a crow. The only description Neisa could find for the miserable town was gray—it was so dull and lifeless, as if no one alive had been there in many, many years.

The Old Bridge that crossed over the Greyflood was not in good shape, either—it was crumbling away, looking barely able to hold Neisa's light weight. She and Boromir exchanged glances as they both dismounted their horses, quietly approaching the decaying bridge. "Are you sure this is safe?" Neisa asked Boromir, her right hand tightly grasping Shadow's bridle. Her green eyes peered over the edge, into the deep drop of water.

"Do you have any other ideas?" Boromir replied, and they both knew the answer to that.

Neisa sighed and begin to cross first, pulling the stubbornly resisting Shadow. "I do not like it any more than you do," she mumbled to her most trusted companion, "but we have no choice." He seemed to calm down somewhat at the sound of her soothing tone, but he was still slightly agitated, tossing his head in frustration. Nonetheless, Neisa continued walking forward with him, her tentative steps avoiding the deep holes within the bridge's surface. She heard Boromir following closely behind her, his steps surprisingly quiet as well.

They were about three quarters of the way over the bridge when it happened. Neisa was about to call out to Boromir, asking if he was alright, when she heard the cracking underneath her boots. The weight was too much for the bridge, it was collapsing from right under them. Neisa sprinted forward, Shadow hot on her heels as the ground began to shudder. She tried to glance over her shoulder to see if Boromir was alright, but her horse was blocking her view, making him completely invisible to her. When they were on safe ground, she looked back.

He was gone.

"Boromir!" yelled Neisa, leaving Shadow behind and rushing to the huge gap in the once stable bridge. "Boromir!" she repeated once more as she approached the edge, heart racing, petrified of what she'd find. She hastily peered over the edge, and found her companion clutching to a jutted-out rock, his horse nowhere to be found. "Are you alright?" asked Neisa stupidly.

"Uh, been better," replied Boromir, slightly breathless as he hung onto the rock.

He was too far away for her to reach her arm down and pull him up, Neisa could see that easily. Nonetheless, she got on her stomach and tried to reach her arm down to him, stretching her fingers as much as she could. It didn't matter—she was still at least six inches too short. "Hang on!" she shouted, thinking ironically to herself that he didn't really have much choice. She glanced around her, knowing that she wouldn't have enough time to run back to Shadow and grab any equipment from her satchel.

The only object on her that was long enough to reach down to Boromir was her sword; knowing she'd have to hold the blade tightly to pull him back up, she ripped one of her boots and ripped the peeling, thick leather off of the leg. It wouldn't hold for long, but it would be some sort of padding for her hands. Wrapping the piece of leather around the blade of her sword and reaching the hilt down to Boromir, she yelled to him, "Grab onto this; I'll pull you up."

"Are you sure—"

"Now is not the time to be complaining, Boromir!" Neisa snarled, just wanting him to grab onto the hilt—she was already seeing the flaws in this plan, but there were no other options.

One of his hands clasped the hilt of her sword, and she could already feel the blade digging into her palms, cutting through the thin leather. She winced, but kept holding on for dear life. The second hand joined the previous one, and blood was already stinging her wounds. Neisa bit down on her lip, and began to pull. She wasn't sure how she did it—perhaps it adrenaline, maybe it was determination, but she found the strength within herself to pull Boromir, a man probably twice her size, inch by inch up until he was close enough to the ledge to grab on and pull his own weight up.

Neisa immediately let go of the blade, the leather split right down the middle. Her palms had gashes in each, blood seeping from the wounds. She pulled them tightly to her chest, gasping for air as she tried to get through the seering pain. Warm hands gently held hers, and she opened her eyes—Neisa hadn't even been aware of closing them—and watched as he silently examined her wounds.

Boromir's eyes glanced up to hers, and they both froze, time stopping. Not a word was spoken, but they both understood one another—she had saved his life, and he was thanking her. Nothing else had to be said—it was all there, in each other's eyes.

**So, what do you all think? Before any of you complain that it's highly impossible that Neisa could pull up Boromir, just think of those mothers who pick up mini-vans to save their babies. Adrenaline gives us strength to do anything. Don't forget to review, and thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter Three

**So, I officially have far too much muse for this story, haha. I'm just too excited about my plans for Neisa, so I'm going to keep writing until I can't anymore! Once again, thanks for my reviews! Here's my responses:**

**arab57g: **Haha, thanks. I hope I don't either, but you never know with how some readers are going to react, you know? And thank you very much, I just want to keep it as close to Tolkien's works as possible—especially since so many readers know every little fact, and I want to keep it as accurate as possible, for their sake. I definitely know what you mean—soon I'm going to go back to that chapter and work in some more descriptions. I will definitely keep that in mind when I'm writing future chapters. Haha, I've seen that too, in many stories. Yeah, Neisa does love Shadow—you'll learn more about her history soon, as well as why she cares so much for Shadow. For now, though, thank you for the lovely review! (:

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><p>The fire crackled throughout the night; Boromir and Neisa had moved away from the Old Bridge, and set up for the night near a rock formation. The ground was mixed with brown dirt and green grass, one swirling around the other so that no one color was strongest. The gray water under the Old Bridge was still, occasionally drifting over the shore and breaking the silence. Tharbad lay behind the two companions, the small town appearing less foreboding from a distance.<p>

Boromir sat beside Neisa, her wounded hands stretched out in front of him. She had told him of the bandages she had always kept in her satchel—her father had always warned her of injuries that could occur while riding—and they now sat beside Boromir as he wiped away the dried blood from her palms with a damp cloth.

"Oh," hissed Neisa as the water stung her gashes. They were fairly deep, but the bandages would have to hold until they reached Rivendell. Then she could get proper treatment.

Boromir did not speak, but continued to methodically sop up the blood, long enough to where the injuries had a chance to heal. When it finally began to slow, Boromir reached for the bandages, and wrapped the white cloth around her small palms, eventually hiding the wounds from plain sight. Despite the fact that he had finished bandaging the lesions, he continued to grasp Neisa's hands in his, his calloused fingers so gently holding hers. "Thank you," said Boromir finally, breaking their silence.

Neisa's eyes immediately found his, and she shook her head at his thanks. "You would have done the same, if our roles were switched," the young woman said quietly, casting her eyes down to his hands still holding hers. She couldn't bring herself to pull them away—they were so warm and comforting, she didn't think she could even if she wanted to.

"Yes," Boromir agreed, "but it would have been far easier for me to pull you up, than the other way around." Neisa smiled wryly, and shrugged her shoulders silently. Boromir took a quiet breath before asking her a question that had been plaguing him since he met her, "Neisa, why did you leave Minas Tirith? What made you put the White City behind you?"

Neisa's body froze, and each breath that escaped from her lips was labored. She pulled her hands away from Boromir's, and stared down at the pale bandages. "How did you know that I lived in Minas Tirith? I never—"

"It was an assumption," Boromir cut her off. "A correct one, it seems."

She nodded, but did not say anything for several moments, clearly thinking of how to respond. "I cannot tell you," replied Neisa softly, "not yet. I am afraid that, when you learn of my past, you will desert me, and I will have traveled all this way for nothing." Her voice was honest and blunt, and it seemed that Boromir respected her wishes.

"What of your father then?" he asked her, trying to pry this young woman open and learn something of her, other than the fact that she was probably one of the bravest, most determined woman he had ever met. "You speak so highly of him—I wish to learn more about him."

Neisa's eyes found his searching hers, and she could not tear away from him. She allowed her guard to fall as she said, "He was the most courageous man I have ever known. He had become a soldier of Gondor days after I was born, as he wanted, in his words, to 'help create a world where I would never be frightened of anything besides the monsters under my bed'." Neisa smiled sadly at the thought of her father, of his comforting arms around her as he would tell her a bedtime story. "As I have said before, my father taught me everything I know of fighting with a blade and even some archery as well. Almost every day we would spar; sometimes I would even best him, but he would always give me advice on how to improve, even when I did win."

Her voice failed, and she cleared her throat, hoping that she would have the strength to continue. "When I was fourteen, my father went to battle to help recapture East Osgiliath; I am sure you remember that battle. You lead the soldiers to battle, correct?" At Boromir's nod, Neisa continued, "While you were victorious, my family was not—my father was slaughtered by Orcs during the battle, and his broken body returned to us. My sister was only two; she did not understand what was happening, why Mother and I were crying so." Neisa's voice vanished, and she brushed away the stray tears on her cheeks. It had been eleven years since his death, and yet her voice still cracked when she recalled seeing her father's fellow soldiers carrying his body back on that black stretcher, covered neatly in a gray blanket.

"I am sorry, Neisa," said Boromir genuinely, his hand tentatively clasping her shoulder. Neisa nodded, her head ducked down as she tried to get control of her emotions. "Tell me of your sister," he pushed—he had seen the love and tenderness in her eyes when she had briefly mentioned her sister, and thought that perhaps she would not be so grieved if she spoke of the young girl.

"Arya?" said Neisa, smiling slightly as she recalled her sister's happy face. "She is thirteen now; a foolish and naïve girl, really. She is always dreaming that some prince will sweep her off her feet and give her a happily ever after. I would constantly have to tell her to get her head out of the clouds, and that she doesn't need some prince to give her a happy ending. Stubborn, silly girl."

"Stubborn?" asked Boromir, his eyebrows raised. "I wonder where she gets that from."

It had the desired effect—Neisa laughed, her mood lightening as her frown and tears had completely vanished now. "Yes, I suppose we are similar in that way. A family trait, I suppose. And what of your brother? I have heard many speak fondly of him."

A look of brotherly pride fleeted over Boromir's face, one that caused a smile to appear on Neisa's face. "Faramir is…brilliant," said Boromir finally, his eyes now turned towards to the horizon, deep in thought. "Far more than I could ever dream to be. He is brave and strong, and yet some do not see it; they say he is soft, and is not ready to lead. They do not see what I see."

His voice gradually trailed off, and Neisa watched his gray eyes as they softened from the talk of his brother. Boromir may have been a great and strong warrior, but there was gentleness in his heart that even Neisa could see and relate to. They both held a protective and loving relationship with their younger siblings, so resilient that they would easily put their lives on the line for them. Perhaps, Neisa thought, she and Boromir were not so different from one another after all.

Neisa grabbed her unsheathed sword, now on her feet, and held one of her bandaged hands out to Boromir. "How about a sparring match to end the day?" she asked.

Boromir looked dubiously at her bandages, and suggested, "Perhaps you should let your hands heal for a couple days before doing any sparring—it might open your wounds."

The stubborn young woman shook her head though, and he sighed before taking her hand and getting to his feet as well. "You will be honest with me, though, and stop if you start feeling any pain?"

"Of course," said Neisa with a bright, lying smile.

They both took their stances, and began the fight once more. Their blades clashed against each other, breaking the silence that surrounded them. Neisa pushed Boromir forward with each swing of her sword; suddenly, as her arms were up, she shoved her elbow into his face, startling him enough to where she could knock his sword out of his hand.

"Good," said Boromir, shaking his head slightly and turning back to Neisa, expecting a joyful smirk. However, she had released her sword as well, and was clasping her hands to her chest once more, practically trembling. "Are you—"

"I shall be fine," Neisa cut him off, shaking him off of her and shakily putting her hands down by her sides. She acted as though he hadn't seen the pure agony in her eyes, and the concern written all over his face. "Maybe we can end our sparring for tonight? I would rather like to end on a high note."

Boromir frowned down at her, but nodded, not even bothering to hide his suspicion.

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><p>Due to the loss of Mahran, Boromir and Neisa were forced to share Shadow, the only horse left between the two of them. After much awkwardness, Neisa coughed uncomfortably and requested that she ride in the front, since Shadow was, after all, her horse. Boromir agreed, and, as they both mounted Shadow, gently placed his hands on her hips so that he would not fall off. Neisa berated herself internally as soon as she felt some blush on her cheeks as Shadow began to trot forward, eventually picking up speed. How could she act as some…silly schoolgirl by a simple brush of his hands on her hips—she was not Arya, she did not daydream of true love and fairytales. She was smarter than that—or else, she thought she was. Neisa shook her head, clearing herself of these ridiculous thoughts as they rode on.<p>

Boromir had informed her of their path—they would keep riding until they reached the Angle of the Bruinen and the Mitheithel, and then, after crossing the river, they would stop for the night. Then, according to her companion, they would only be a day away from Rivendell. Neisa could already feel her stomach twisting in excitement of finally seeing the Elven city, lands that not even her father had visited. If only Arya knew—she would be positively green with envy at the thought that Neisa would actually be able to meet an elf, fulfilling one of Arya's many dreams.

The path that the companions took was filled with dark, evergreen trees, some hanging so low that they would even brush the surface of the river. Neisa would overhear a creature stirring in the thick bushes as they rode by, but she only had a split second to glance over and miss witnessing the beauty of nature. Her hands, still aching from her injuries, clenched the reins as tightly as she could, fearing that if she did not hold on, they would tremble worrisomely.

They were silent as they approached the Angle—the water was shallow enough that Shadow could pass through it without the need for a bridge. Night had already fallen as Shadow's hooves disturbed the surface of the gurgling water, as well as the rocks underneath. As they neared the shore, Neisa felt Boromir's grip loosen on her hips. She was so startled at the change in pressure that she immediately turned her body to see if he was alright, so sharply that it seemed to surprise Boromir as well. Thanks to this surprise, he toppled off of Shadow, directly into the cold water.

As the man sputtered, Neisa could not help but burst out laughing as he flopped in the shallow water. She was so busy holding her sides she did not realize Boromir's wicked grin as he got to his feet and pulled her into the water along with him. "Oh!" gasped the young woman the icy water seeped through her clothes and made goosebumps erupt on her body. "That was not very nice!" Neisa yelled, laughing nonetheless at their predicament.

"It was well deserved!" shouted Boromir, a wide smile on his face as he chortled along with her.

"I disagree," she shot back, cracking another smile up at him as she laid her head back into the water, closing her eyes. Her bandages were soaked, but her hands stopped trembling; they had either gone numb or the cold water was finally helping clear up the burning in her wounds. "This is wonderful," said Neisa, a calm smile spread on her face.

"Yes, it is," Boromir replied, making Neisa open her eyes and turn her face to find his gray eyes directly gazing at her face. Her heart squirmed in a way she had never felt before. Before she could question it, Boromir got to his feet and held his hand out to her. "Come on, I should re-bandage your hands."

Neisa put her hand in his, and he helped her up; they were both soaked and freezing cold, but they continued to laugh, as if not even the worst of times could weaken their happiness.

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><p>Neisa lay on the soft, sandy shore of the Angle, granules clinging to her dark hair. Her body was exhausted, and yet her mind was wide awake, constantly turning as she recalled memories of her father, her mother, and her sister. Of when they had all lived together happily, no worries of death or loss. After his passing, Neisa's family had been broken; there was no laughter, no smiles, no happiness. That time in the river, that was the first time Neisa had actually laughed with joy and no worries of the future. She glanced over at Boromir, who was lying on his back as well, staring at the stars silently.<p>

She turned away from him, her eyes finding the night sky as well. "My family…means the world to me," said Neisa, breaking the thick silence. She heard Boromir turn as he glanced over at her, surprised that she was still awake. "I would die for them, in a second, if anyone ever threatened them. That…was put to the test when I still resided in Minas Tirith; my mother and sister's lives were at stake, and I was forced to act. That is…that is why I was banished from Minas Tirith. Because I was protecting them," she finished, her eyes closed as she finally confessed.

It was silent; she could not bring herself to look at Boromir as she added, "I cannot tell you what happened, I am not prepared to confess to that yet. But, you must trust, Boromir, that I am of no danger to you or anyone else. You must believe—"

"Stop," said Boromir firmly; Neisa immediately shut her mouth, nervous of what he was going to say next. He took a moment to think her words over before responding, "You have become my companion over these days, Neisa. You saved my life, while risking your own in the process. You did not flee, or give up; you have proven yourself to be trustworthy. I will give you my trust."

Neisa turned her head to his, and his eyes were honest and kind. She smiled weakly at him and nodded, mumbling, "Thank you." She turned on her side, away from him, and felt her eyes beginning to droop as a weight off her shoulders was finally lifted.

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><p><strong>So, what do you all think of this chapter? Please review and let me know! Thanks for reading!<strong>


	4. Chapter Four

**As promised, here is the next chapter to "A New Hope". But first, here are my responses to the reviews:**

**Glory Bee: **Yeah, I really like writing about their relationship, and how they interact with one another. They're both really similar, actually, despite the fact that they come from different backgrounds. They are both older, protective siblings, they lost a parent when they were fairly young, they are both fearless fighters, etc.

**arab57g: **Haha, I know; don't worry, there will be much more description in either this chapter or the next one, depending on how far Boromir and Neisa get in their travels. (: Thanks for the review!

**Cillyadrian: **Aw, thanks! (:

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><p>Neisa awoke with a jolt; something soft and damp was brushing across her face, occasionally blowing warm air over her. Laughing slightly, her eyes opened to see Shadow sniffing her face, nudging her until she was awake. "Thank you for that," she mockingly frowned up into his brown eyes; he just snorted once more, tossing his head as if he was actually laughing at his rider.<p>

Shaking her head at her annoying friend, Neisa searched for her other companion, the one who had caused her to be soaked the night before. He was rolling his blanket and placing it back in Shadow's satchel. Noticing her gaze, he gave her a half smile before patting Shadow on the neck and approaching his owner. "Ready?" asked Boromir, reaching out a hand to help her to her feet.

"As much as I shall ever be," replied Neisa, smiling up at him as well as she took his hand.

"How are your hands?" Boromir questioned as she was busy mounting Shadow. "Are they still sore?"

Neisa glanced down at her palms, which were still bandaged tightly from the night before. "Not as badly as before," she responded honestly before taking ahold of Shadow's reins. Boromir took his seat behind her, once again gently placing his warm hands on her hips. "They should be fine for when we spar tonight," Neisa added; she was determined to get in some sparring that night, since they hadn't been able to the night before. She was even coming to enjoy the sessions, even though she had only one of the many rounds.

Shadow burst forward with speed, clearly having anticipated this ride. "We may have to wait until tomorrow to do any sparring," said Boromir, making Neisa whip her head around in surprise. "If our travels go as planned, we should arrive in Rivendell by nightfall."

A happy grin appeared on Neisa's face before she turned back to the road, pushing Shadow even harder to increase his speed. As they rode, she daydreamed of what she would say to her sister about Rivendell, about the magical land where the elves lived. Her sister had always asked her various questions about the elves, curious of their abilities and their grace. They were part of a fairytale to Arya, one that she constantly sighed about and wished she was a part of. And now Neisa would be the one to visit the elves, while Arya was back home, picking up the pieces of her life. The smile slipped off of Neisa's face as they continued on their travels, her stomach twisting in knots as she worried about her young sister and ailing mother.

Their ride was eventless. It was due to this lull that Neisa felt her eyelids beginning to droop lazily as darkness began to creep over the sky, tearing the light away from everything. She felt her fingers beginning to give slack to Shadow's reins, and she was unable to shake herself out of her exhaustion. She was about to tell Boromir that perhaps they should stop for the night, when she felt his arms encircle her as he grasped Shadow's reins, forcing her to lean back on his chest. "Just sleep, Neisa," he said quietly in her ear, and, for once, she listened.

While Neisa slowly began to close her eyes, Boromir took ahold of Shadow, who seemed to immediately recognize the shift in control over him. However, he continued to ride forward, listening to every one of Boromir's commands as they began to near Rivendell. The change in terrain was obvious—the road began to narrow, and the light sounds of water began to echo throughout the valley. Cliffs began to climb up higher and higher, and then the waterfalls came into sight. They poured onto slabs of rock, shaping them into various appearances. Rivendell finally appeared—it looked as if the buildings were made of pale wood and stone, and it all practically glittered under the moonlight. Lights danced from the open windows, balconies, gardens, and Boromir couldn't stop the breath from leaving him as he gazed upon the lovely city.

They rode towards the House of Elrond, where Boromir had been instructed to arrive at. Neisa felt herself beginning to stir, and she slowly opened her eyes to Rivendell right in front of her. Even in her stupor, she was amazed at the stunning land that lay in front of her. Boromir slid off of Shadow and, ignoring her half-hearted protests, picked Neisa up off of her horse and set her down on the ground. Neisa leaned against a pillar, still close to falling asleep once more, when she noticed a tall, old man come out of the building they stood in front of, draped in dark gray cloak. For his hefty age, though, he moved swiftly as he began to talk to Boromir in a low voice. Neisa was unsure of what they spoke of, but after a decent chunk of time, the older man left while Shadow was taken away by an elf with glistening blonde hair.

Before she could even question what was happening, Boromir swept her up into his arms. "Do not be ridiculous, I am perfectly capable to walk—" Neisa tried to say before a loud yawn cut her off. She sighed and continued to try to squirm her way out of his arms, but he simply ignored her, tightening his grip in the process.

Soon they found their way to an empty room; Neisa noticed nothing else but the large bed covered in sheets and thick blankets. Boromir gently placed her on the bed, and took a step away from her, trying to ignore the emotions swimming inside of his heart as he watched her struggle to remove her feet from her boots. Laughing slightly along with her, he bent down and slipped them off, and they both glanced at one another briefly, hearts pounding and emotions running strong.

Neisa was the first to blink, ripping herself from Boromir's gaze, feeling her cheeks burn slightly as she quietly told the man, "Good night, Boromir. I hope I will see you tomorrow."

"Of course," smiled Boromir. "Good night, Neisa," he added before leaving the young woman to slip under the covers in her dirty clothes and drift away into the heavy sleep that she had been missing for many months.

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><p>Birds chirped cheerily outside of Neisa's room, some even becoming bold enough to perch on her balcony, glancing through the open doors to gaze upon the slumbering young woman. Sunlight streamed through those same open doors, forcing Neisa to wrinkle her nose slightly at the gentle awakening. She could hear the soft sounds of the waterfalls just outside, and this pushed her even more to open her eyes and embrace the morning. A small smile appeared on her face as she stretched her arms above her head, feeling her joints cracking in pleasure. The bed she laid upon was so comfortable, she was unsure of whether or not she had ever experienced such a beautiful sleep.<p>

Neisa pulled herself out of the warm bed, and immediately began to sniff the fragrant air; her eyes fell upon a small tub hidden behind a pale blue changing screen. The scents wafting toward Neisa's nose was juniper berries and lavender, reminding her of home. The young woman suddenly realized that she would finally be able to bath herself—a luxury lost on her for many months—and instantly rushed over to the tub, tearing her clothes off in record speed before she collapsed into the steaming water.

She wasn't sure if she would ever be able to move again. The dirt and blood slowly lifted from her skin, and her bandages were so soaked that she was forced to tear them off her wounds and throw them into a small pile beside the tub. Neisa ducked her head underneath the water's surface several times, washing her hair and just trying to absorb as much of the scented water as possible. Soon the water began to cool, and Neisa was forced to step out of the tub and dry herself off with a fluffy towel.

As she did her best to remove as much moisture from her hair as possible, Neisa glanced at her disgustingly dirty garb from the past few months, and knew there was no way she could put that back on, not when she had finally taken a bath. Her only other clothing was a pale, sea green dress that was hanging on the changing screen. It was pretty, even Neisa could agree to that, but she had always hated wearing dresses or skirts, even when she was a young girl. Unfortunately, it seemed that she had no choice; she pulled the dress over her body, and frowned at how snugly it fit her body. It just didn't feel natural, not to her.

Sighing at the realization that she was stuck in this dress, Neisa was relieved to see that her boots were still there. She knew they would hardly work well with the dress, but she didn't care, not one bit—the brunette pulled the boots onto her feet, and, after running a comb through her slightly damp hair, she left her room. The outside corridor was empty with the exception of two beautiful she-elves who were holding clean linens in their hands, and were whispering in a language Neisa had never heard of before. Throwing caution to the wind, Neisa approached them and asked, "Excuse me, where could I find Lord Boromir?"

Both of the she-elves exchanged glances with one another, and began to giggle at the young woman before walking in the other direction. Rolling her eyes, Neisa continued to walk through the corridor until she reached the doorway that led to the outdoors. And that was when Neisa was finally able to look upon the beauty of Rivendell.

It was truly a city that she could never have even dreamed of. It was truly something out of a fairytale. The buildings sparkled under the warm sunshine, and Neisa could even smell the airy, floral scents from the gardens surrounding the city. Clear water cascaded down the cliffs surrounding the valley. Neisa couldn't stop the bright smile from forming on her face at the sights, sounds, and smells that she was witnessing. It grew even wider when her eyes came upon, only a walking distance away, the stables.

Neisa did not even stop to wonder where Boromir was; the only thought that crossed her mind as she rushed over to the stables was that she wanted to see her longtime companion, the one person who had never disappointed her. As soon as she entered the stables, Neisa let out a soft whistle—her father had taught her how to whistle when she was very young, and it had stuck with her ever since. It was one of the ways that Shadow recognized her approach, as she had done it for many years.

As expected, Shadow popped his head over the stables door, tossing his head side to side at the sight of her. She laughed slightly and caressed his neck, leaning her head against his nose. "I have decided that I hate dresses," said Neisa quietly to Shadow, a slight smile on her face. "They are the worst of all garments."

While Shadow chomped down on a carrot that his owner had grabbed from a nearby workbench, Neisa searched through the stables until she found her saddle, and, after digging through her satchels, grabbed her bandages. After wrapping her wounds in the white cloth—it was nowhere near as good as Boromir's work, but it would have to do—Neisa bid farewell to her friend and began to explore the mystery of Rivendell. Soon, as she began to walk through the gardens, she stumbled upon an archery range. It was empty; the grass throughout the field was emerald green, marred only by a few arrows and several targets. Neisa spotted a bow lying on the ground, as well as a half-full sleeve of arrows. Deciding to give it a try, she seized the bow and an arrow, and stepped up to the barrier between the field and the trail behind her. She stuck the arrow onto the nocking point, and, putting the bow upright, stretched back the string, looking directly through the sight window. Neisa used all of her strength the keep the bow steady as she let go of the string…and the arrow flew slowly through the air, landing gently on the grass.

"Your stance is off."

Neisa jumped, startled that she was, in fact, not alone. She glanced over her shoulder and found a blonde elf standing a few feet away from her, gazing directly at her. He was exceptionally handsome—as most elves were—with long blonde, dark blue eyes, and high cheekbones. In his hands were a highly detailed bow and a sleeve full of arrows, making Neisa flush—clearly this elf knew more about archery than she did. Shoving away her embarrassment, Neisa asked him, "How so?"

The elf motioned for her to reload an arrow into her bow, and she complied; however, as she began to pull the string back once more, he appeared instantly over her shoulder, telling her to raise her elbow and fix her grip on the bow. When she obeyed him once more, the elf gestured for her to let go of the arrow; she did, and the arrow shot through the air, hitting the closest target on the outside layer. Grinning, Neisa turned back to the elf and said, "Thank you. I am Neisa of Gondor, by the way."

The elf bowed his head slightly, and said, "Legolas of the Woodland Realm. It is a pleasure to meet you, milady."

"Please—it is just Neisa," the young woman interrupted him. "I am no lady."

"Very well," said Legolas with a slightly puzzled expression on his handsome face. "You have travelled here with Lord Boromir for the Council of Elrond, correct?"

A slight frown appeared on Neisa's face; she had no idea what this Council of Elrond was, but she chose not to ask, figuring it best to ask Boromir when she saw him. Pushing away these thoughts, she replied, "Yes, I have. Would you happen to know where I could find Lord Boromir? I have been searching for him all morning."

"He is probably still in the House of Elrond," Legolas replied, studying her face briefly. "You should find your husband there."

"Oh!" gasped Neisa, laughing in awkward surprise. "Oh, no, Boromir is not my husband. We are just travelling partners, nothing more, I assure you."

"Forgive me, I misperceived your relationship," said Legolas, although he seemed to have other thoughts brimming underneath the surface.

"It is quite alright," responded Neisa, giving him a brief smile before turning back to the archery range. She decided that she would try shooting the rest of that sleeve of arrows before going to search for Boromir once more. Her progress was easily apparent—she even managed to directly notch her arrow into the center of the target a couple of times. Neisa grinned as she placed the bow on the ground once more, and glanced over at Legolas, who was now shooting as well. His skill was unworldly, really—it seemed that every one of his arrows went directly where it wanted to go.

Neisa took note of his stance, reminding herself that she must stand directly as he did then, and left the archery range; he was so focused on the range, she did not wish to interrupt him. The young woman returned to the House of Elrond and entered the corridor her room was located in; she was happily surprised to see Boromir standing outside of her door, knocking quietly.

"Boromir!" she called out his name, and the man turned in the direction of her voice. The emotion that Neisa first recognized was surprise, but she was unsure of why the surprise was so strong. She obviously did not realize her change in appearance since Boromir had least seen her—not only was she free of her grungy appearance, she was dressed in flattering dress that hugged her curves nicely. It was enough to startle anyone who was so used to seeing her dressed in her dirty leggings and tunic. "I hope you have not been knocking for very long," said Neisa, smiling warmly up at him as she approached him.

"Not at all," said Boromir, seeming to be as happy to see her as she was him. "How did you sleep?"

"Wonderfully," grinned Neisa honestly as she opened her door; she was hoping that her clothes were still there, as she was already getting sick of the dress that she was now wearing. The young woman was startled that her clothes were now clean and neatly folded on her made bed. These elves were truly magical, thought Neisa.

"I was wondering if you would be interested in some sparring this morn," suggested Boromir, his eyes lingering on her longer than he ever expected they would. "It has been quite a while since you got any practice in."

"Of course," she replied, and glanced down at her attire. "Let me just change into different clothes? I must wear my leggings and tunic, or else I will surely go crazy."

Boromir laughed, and nodded his head. "I shall meet you down on the training field in fifteen minutes?"

"I will see you there," promised Neisa, and she let out a breath as he closed the door behind him. Shaking her head at her odd emotions, the brunette changed into her newly cleaned clothes, and breathed in a sigh of relief. She tied her sheath around her waist, and swept her long, curly brown hair up off her neck. Happy with being back to normal, Neisa left her room and out into the beautiful city of Rivendell, ready for anything to be thrown at her.

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><p><strong>So, what do you all think? I'm sorry for the wait, I had some difficulties getting this chapter out for some reason. Anyways, don't forget to review! Thanks for reading!<strong>


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